


Golden

by tea_petty



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Class Differences, F/M, Forbidden Love, Hurt/Comfort, Nobility, Penis In Vagina Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:27:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23998243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tea_petty/pseuds/tea_petty
Summary: Prince Mathias measures life by a series of golden afternoons.
Relationships: Denmark (Hetalia)/Reader
Kudos: 37





	Golden

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to my tumblr; tea-pettiest

It burned. That was the first thing he remembered with terribly, cruel clarity. 

Mathias was on his back, and in retrospect, that was better; he didn’t want to see the damage. From his sprawled-out position in the cart it felt like his skin was peeling, his ribs spreading, feeding the coppery wetness that blossomed at his clothes. 

Some of his men carried him off into the castle, where a whole slew of nurses and physicians awaited his return – courtesy of the rider who’d galloped off as soon as he’d fallen, to prime the infirmary for his return. His head was spinning, and patches of numb coldness had started to appear at various points on his body. He felt like he was part ghost. Is this what it felt like to die?

He felt the mattress of a bed solidify beneath him, and it felt like stone in his frail condition. He hadn’t realized they’d reached the infirmary already. In the moments that had passed since his departure from the cart, maybe years had passed instead.

They removed his armor, but the heaviness in his bones remained. He tried to take a deep breath, but the splitting pain stopped him. He exhaled. 

A flutter of voices and motion could be made out from beyond a foggy veil of consciousness, though he hadn’t the energy to care for anything beyond the veil. Blackness began to encroach on his vision, blotting like dribbles of thick, dark ink. He could not recall drawing breath once more.

-

The next time he managed to crack his eyelids open, bright light burst forth, splintering his headache into a thousand blistering fractals. He groaned and then stiffened when a delicate touch was there to smooth his hair back from his forehead.

His mother maybe? She didn’t usually make a habit of visiting her sons when they ailed. 

He forced his eyes open, trying to make sense of the touch; trying to fit a face to it. Before he could though, something damp and dark shrouded his vision. Hie eyes shut once more, and glorious darkness prevailed as cool dribbles of water slipped over his eyes and down his face.

“His fever’s just about broken; the doctor is quite confident he’ll overcome this infection.”

A woman’s voice? Belonging to the same one who’d touched him? It was delicate, light like a spring wind, but not without the gravity of intent. 

He wanted to raise his hand and move the towel, but his curiosity was not enough to make his weak fingers so much as twitch.

“That’s good to know, thank you.”

A muted thump could be heard. A book shutting – a noise Mathias could probably only identify so well because it was often in the vicinity of Lukas’ voice. His mild-mannered tone sounded less closed off, less frigid today. 

Maybe that’s because he wasn’t using it on Mathias though. 

There was some more rustling, then the sound of dainty footsteps as someone exited the room at a curt pace. 

Mathias sighed and then the towel was being lifted from his head.

“Mathias? Are you awake?”

Lukas’ voice sounded urgent. Surprised. Mathias seldom heard it pick up like that, and so he couldn’t help but let his lips split into a grin. The small, unwitting motion awoke a throb in his skull, and his brow furrowed, eyes still shut.

“No. I think I’m dead for real this time.”

Lukas scoffed and now Mathias did try to open his eyes again. 

“Idiot.”

His brother’s voice was the same, but his eyebrows had a troubled tilt to them, and his mouth was pulled into a slight frown.

“I’m fine – yeah? No worry.”

Lukas said that’s what she must’ve thought too – the woman, that is.

Mathias wondered at how Lukas had said her name; like it was familiar like he’d said it a million times before. Mathias tried it out too, inquiring after her, trying the sounds out on his lips. 

His heart ached in a way that bubbled up into the gentle wings of butterflies, too delicate to venture out into the real world.

“Yes – she’s been tending to you every day since the doctor deemed your condition improving.”

“Every day?”

Lukas cocked an eyebrow, and it marred the worry on his face. It seemed like he was reassured of Mathias’ bill of improving health for now.

“ _Ja_ , as most of the servants here do.”

A pang of guilt went through Mathias. Had he seen her before then? Had he dismissed her into the background as had become custom of the family to do to their servants? Just how long had she worked for his family?

“How do I find her again?”

“Find her again? She was just here, you’re good for the day.”

Mathias worried at his bottom lip. 

“Then she will come again tomorrow?”

“ _Ja_ , and probably the next one too.”

Lukas, who had since reopened his book from its dog-eared place peered up from behind it.

“Why? What are you planning?”

-

The next afternoon, Mathias had no problems opening his eyes, so it was with the golden afternoon sun that filtered in through the windows, with which Mathias first laid eyes on her. She bid a good afternoon to Lukas, who as usual, was sitting in the corner, mentally at Mathias’ bedside.

She had smiled at him almost immediately – eyes shining while the corners crinkled. Mathias felt himself weaken.

“Ah! You’re awake,” she set the tray she was carrying down on the table pushed up against the wall. It was holding a bowl of water and a rag – no doubt in case his fever still stubbornly clung to him. 

Her voice was light, Mathias thought, but he could’ve easily said the same of many women. He had only heard her speak once before and had to be sure.

She smoothed her hand against his forehead, and Mathias let his eyes fall shut. The rasp of her work-hardened hands at his brow, somehow more tender than calfskin with its hold on him. Yes – this was the same woman as yesterday.

“Excellent! Your fever is gone.”

Mathias felt a yanking abandonment as she pulled her hand away.

“Can you sit up?”

“ _Ja_ , I–“

Mathias started to push himself up with his hands but the moment he attempted to hold himself up, pain spidered from the small knot of tension at his abdomen. 

He gasped and fell back down against the bed.

She clucked her tongue at him, a sound that wasn’t as pleasant as her voice, but certainly nothing he’d sneeze at.

“You have to be careful – you’re still healing,” She went to him and slipped her hand beneath his shoulder. 

He stiffened immediately at her touch, which she assumed to be apprehension or pain.

“Here,” she leaned in and grabbed one of his hands, easing it around her. 

“Let me help you.”

He could feel her warm breath at his face; they were about nose to nose. 

It was almost infuriating how fine she seemed at their proximity, especially when he had to count her eyelashes to keep himself from melting right through her fingers. 

Lukas had put his book down and was watching them intently. 

She kept her soft gaze lowered, to about where Mathias’ collarbone was. 

He was grateful for this because it allowed for a modicum of privacy as he watched her. He couldn't place her face, but he knew he liked studying the focus of color in her eyes and the inquisitive quirk to her lips. 

He struggled to sit up; the burn was still there but he didn’t want to put his full weight on her. He’d been lugging around heavy weaponry and armor for years – he wasn’t sure he could trust his weight on a woman who folded linens and changed bandages.

“Trust me,” she murmured.

Oh, Holy Hell.

Successfully though, she managed to get him somewhat upright. 

Without warning, she leaned into him. He caught a whiff of her scent - that of freshly laundered clothes and the wildflowers that grew about the estate.

At the gentle tickle of her hair at his ear, and the pillowy crush of her chest on his, his grip almost slipped from her. The burn at his abdomen flared again and he almost fell.

Her hold on him tensed, and he felt movement behind him. The hand at his shoulder had a biting grip now, and the way it trembled told him she wouldn’t be able to hold his weight for long.

“Hang on,” her voice sounded slightly terse. 

In the next moment, he was falling backward – he’d thought she couldn’t hold him any longer. 

Oh, how he fell. 

His arms were still around her as he careened back, and he was surprised to find that a soft nest of pillows broke his fall – not the flat of the mattress. 

She flushed slightly and didn’t dare look him in the eyes.

“Pardon me,” she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, “I shouldn’t have been so clumsy – I was trying to adjust the pillows behind you so that you could sit upright.”

It took Mathias a minute to realize he was supposed to release her.

“Ah, no! It was my fault! I was worried I was too heavy for you and-” he broke off into an awkward sort of laugh that was supposed to be reassuring.

Lukas raised an eyebrow, his book all but forgotten in his hands.

She straightened up and smoothed out her apron. Then with eyes that were almost too bright to be as casual as she intended, she looked at Mathias.

“Well, you seem perfectly fine for today, so if you need anything else, later on, you can ring the bell.”

Right. The bell. 

Mathias had forgotten about the servants’ bell at the wall, just within reach. He wanted to give the string a tug and never stop.

She dipped in a modest curtsy before him, cheeks pink, before doing the same for Lukas and taking a hasty leave.

“Thank you,” Lukas called.

When the door shut behind her, he shot Mathias a glare.

“You really shouldn’t do that, you know.”

“Do what?”

Something curdled and sour pitted in his belly. He hated feeling guilty and more often than not, Lukas was one of few people who could make him so.

Lukas sighed.

“You know what. I saw the way you were holding her.” He shook his head a little before raising one hand to his forehead and the other to his chest. He batted his eyelashes and Mathias wanted to howl in laughter with how ridiculous he looked - until Lukas started speaking in an exaggerated falsetto, that is. “ _Oh, please won’t you help me Miss? I’m so terribly weak and cannot sit up on my own_!”

“Is that supposed to be me?” Mathias demanded, frowning.

Lukas was relentless.

“ _Oh, how clumsy of me! Thank goodness my strapping physique broke your fall_!”

“My voice isn’t that high!”

“No matter,” Lukas snapped, “you shouldn’t be going on, doing what you’re doing.”

Mathias felt his temper flare in him, as vividly as if he’d been with fever once more.

“And what exactly am I doing?”

Bile rose in Mathias’ throat. He hadn’t even done anything!

Though perhaps that’s what haunted him – already, Lukas saw right through him, and he hadn’t even done anything _yet_.

Lukas frowned. 

He and Mathias both knew that there were these infuriating things that couldn’t be put into words but still lurked. These sorts of things could get to be rather inconvenient because the rest of the world could pretend like they weren’t there, like there wasn’t anything to be accountable for, even though there was.

Lukas opened his book once more and looked away from Mathias.

“She’s a servant. If you pursue her, when it goes wrong – and it _will_ go wrong – she’ll be the one hurt the most in the process. Mind that.”

Mathias scoffed. 

“You’re going mad.”

For the rest of the evening, Mathias couldn’t get rid of the sour feeling in his stomach.

-

In the months that followed, Mathias only grew stronger.

Or maybe it would be more accurate to say that _physically_ , he grew stronger. In the days that followed, it was always she who came to check on his wound and change his bandages. Her touch seared through his skin leaving her brand on his heart. Mathias tried to focus on this and the near-miss of her eyes as he avoided Lukas’ penetrating disapproval from behind.

The better he got, the less she had to come. Soon the daily checkups, were bi-weekly, and then just weekly, and eventually, he could walk and roam the grounds so long as he had an attendant by his side. He’d grown so attuned to this quiet, easy routine, that even though the heart sickness set in as he saw her less frequently, he felt a boundless freedom at once again having the obedience of his body. 

He quickly learned to master the golden hour in which she was available to accompany him on a stroll through the gardens, in which Lukas didn’t think to try and stop by and be his attendant so early; thwarting his plot to keep them separate. 

The afternoons Mathias spent with her were lavish – they walked and talked in hues of gold and when iron clouds yielded silver streaks of rain, they’d take cover beneath the generous canopies of foliage. He’d bow his body towards hers, keeping her safe from the rain, keeping her charmed by his kiss – though only the flowers and low hanging boughs witnessed this; and they kept this secret with great reliability. Many nights, they didn’t dare return to the reality of the castle until the bronze twilight called them home. Their fingers met last brush as they crossed the threshold and stepped inside – master and servant once again.

After weeks of this ebb and wane, when Mathias was almost contented, it was Lukas waiting for him by the door leading out to the gardens. 

He told Mathias that the latter's mother had decided a ball was to be held. In Mathias’ honor.

How gaudy. How _typical_.

Because of his recovery?

Lukas was able to confirm this.

Still though, that night over dinner and in the drawing-room, something lurked in the depths of his eyes, that Mathias couldn't place, but dreaded all the same.

-

The night of the ball had been an annoyance as predicted, mostly because Mathias hadn’t been able to meet up with her in the afternoon like usual due to the extensive preparations. 

When night had fallen and it was time for him to dress, he couldn’t hide his excitement at her having been sent up to check his wound a final time while bringing his clothes.

Her knock was deeply distinguishable to him – the key to his happiness, and when the door opened, a wide grin was already on his face.

“ _Yndling!_ ” Mathias went in for the hug, though she was sure to scurry into his room with a fervent look in either direction before the door shut and she was able to accept it.

“I was so sorry I could not meet you today,” he said, smoothing his hands up her arms. He took his formal clothing from her and set it on his bed before turning back to her. “I hate that all this silliness must take me from you tonight.”

Her face reddened and she looked away.

“Don’t say that – it’s a ball. Won’t it be fun? And I’ll,” she cleared her throat, “I’ll technically be there.”

Her words seemed to put him in even higher spirits, if possible. He wrapped his arms around her and spun. In the levity of the motion and mood, she relaxed, unable to keep from his infectious happiness.

“You will be the most beautiful lady there!”

It was silly really since she was only the help and she’d be in her uniform, but still, she took his compliment and tucked it into the safety of her affection’s innermost pocket. She so desperately wanted to believe that to him, she could be more beautiful than those noble ladies in their chiffon and candy-colored gowns.

She laughed. 

“Enough of this, sit down and let me have a look at you.”

He perched at the edge of the bed, and the low light of the room bathed him in gold again. It wasn’t so much like their afternoons. Here, there was less hiding, though there was something else she couldn’t exactly say, something maybe that they both wanted, but couldn’t entrust to the peeking flowers in the garden.

“The doctor told me to check your scar, just to ensure you’re fit for a night of dancing.”

Her voice sort of fell at the end and this did not go unnoticed by Mathias.

“Huh!” he scoffed, “It doesn’t matter then. I won’t dance – not until I next see you.”

Her face warmed again, but this time, she couldn’t bring herself to believe him so readily.

He tugged at the ties at the front of his shirt before pulling it over his head. She’d seen his torso bare before – it was a part of her job after all. It felt different here however, without Lukas watching them, in the safe dimness of Mathias' room and on his bed.

The scar was no longer the mess she’d seen when he’d first returned from battle. 

Now, it was a pink, shiny streak, just below his ribcage.

She pressed two fingers there.

“Does that hurt?”

She tried hard to focus on the mark, and not the warmth and firmness of his skin.

“You could never hurt me.”

His voice was soft. She stared hard at the wound, unable to meet his gaze, ready to withdraw her touch and give him the okay to dance the night away. His fingers were wrapping around her wrist then, a burning vise.

Her heart thudded in her chest, and the swirling heat she’d always felt around Mathias felt almost choking now.

His grip smoothed down her wrist to her palm, coaxing her other fingers out into a gently splay before he pressed her entire palm to him.

She swallowed, her throat tight. Her eyes fluttered shut. It was all becoming too much.

He shifted her palm upwards, and she was hyperaware of the divots of his body, the contour of the fine play of muscle at his torso. 

The movement stopped and her palm was once again pressed to the heat of him. 

She felt him shift beneath her slowly – a gentle rise and fall, like the tide stretching out to press a chaste kiss to shore.

“Look at me, _elskede_ ,” 

Her breath hitched, but she obeyed.

His eyes were dazzling in this light, as was the rest of him. When he spoke next, she barely made sense of the words.

At the ball that night, she did everything right, with his promise still glowing inside of her. She curtsied and kept the food and drink coming with great haste.

She was gracious and respectful. She humored the whims of every guest, and when she could steal looks from Mathias, who looked bored beside his mother, she did that too.

By the end of the night, though her arms and legs ached, she felt hopeful almost. Seldom did people find love so true; what was their difference in station, so long as she could covet those afternoons in the garden and that evening in his room?

She was still smiling when Mathias’ mother, Queen Agnes captured the attention of all with the gentle tinkling of her cutlery and glass.

The young, beautiful, blonde woman on her other side was beaming charitably.

And Mathias? Mathias was to be wed to her.

-

The wedding preparations, which had commenced nearly right away, had been completed rather quickly, though it made no difference to Mathias. Each day, felt as long as three used to, with his mother pestering him to engage with his fiancé, the lovely, but certainly not _her_ , Princess Elizabeth, who seemed almost as disinterested in their coupling as he was.

The nights were a little better, as no one bothered him, and if he was lucky, he’d meet her in his dreams, where the golden afternoons could last the whole day, and the night too.

He tried his best to get up early enough to catch the help bringing in his clothes, or else to tire early in the hopes he might find her in his room alone, again – but he hadn’t caught a glimpse of her since the night of the ball. 

When his mother had made that infernal announcement, he’d looked to her immediately; had memorized her place in the crowd, only to find that she’d already vanished.

He didn’t dare ask directly about her whereabouts. He suspected Lukas knew, but he was too afraid to ask.

He came close the day of his wedding, as he was dressed and primped. 

When the help had left and he and Lukas waited for Mathias’ cue to take his place at the altar. It had just been the two of them plus the massive elephant in the room.

The quiet was making Mathias nervous, though he knew that whatever they filled it with would mean nothing unless it held the answers he so desperately was looking for. 

The room felt smothering. Lukas wouldn’t look at him. Mathias could hear the clock tick from the mantle above the fireplace, and he stifled the urge to grab it and hurl it out the window.

He turned suddenly, to look at his dear friend.

“Lukas.”

He looked up; eyebrows raised. It wasn’t that he was curious to know what Mathias wanted, it was that he hadn’t expected him to have the courage to ask.

“I-“ 

Then there was a knock at the door, and a maidservant stepped in to collect him. 

Mathias was painfully aware that this wasn’t her.

From that moment through the wedding ceremony and the reception that followed, Mathias had sought the shelter of the garden in his head. When he could no longer transpose the ethereal golds of his mingled daydreams and memories with the darkened halls of the castle at night, he retired early. His wife had wanted to stay up to enjoy the festivities.

The Queen Consort warned him she might be out until dawn. He’d be counting on it. Hoping for it even. 

He went to his room.

No sooner had the door opened, but she startled at his bedside and Mathias' breath left his body.

She was just as he’d last seen her; in that uniform, her hair slightly mussed, her cheeks livening with color. She had just set a change of bedclothes on his side, as well as a set for his wife on the other; she took a step back when she saw him, empty hands raised with the palms out. 

She was warding him away.

“Oh, _allerkæreste_ ,” he sighed, stepping in and shutting the door firmly behind him.

“You weren’t supposed to be here now,” she said, “you were supposed to be downstairs with everyone else.” A pained look crossed her face, “with your w-wife.”

A pang went through his chest. Her words, though true, slid past his breastbone and bit into him with the efficiency of a blade.

“Why would you say such things to me? This is the first I’ve seen you in months! You vanished on me! And now you want to send me away? How cruel.”

“ _I’m_ cruel?" She rounded on him. He'd never seen such ferocity in her eyes. It flared inside of him, first as resentful hurt, then as something else he wasn't quite ready to confront. "You’re married now.” 

She turned around and smoothed the already creaseless duvet again. To her, the conversation was over, there was nothing left to say.

Mathias went over to her, his feet soundless on the thick carpet. From behind her, he took her wrist in his larger hand and spun her around. She yelped, first surprised, but then her brow furrowed and her mouth screwed up.

“You say this like it was _my_ choice, that’s not fair!” 

She tried to jerk her wrist away from him, but could not prevail. 

Her free hand shoved at his chest, desperate to get him away.

“It doesn’t matter whose fault it is, what matters is that you’re _married_.”

Mathias wasn’t thinking. The moment he touched her, the feeling of her real and in his hands became the only thing important to him. He clung to that as his other hand wrapped around her waist and pulled her to him.

“Stop,” she whined, though the way she pulled from him grew weaker. The beating at his chest grew fainter. 

Gentle taps that mirrored the pounding of his heart.

“Do you not remember what I told you that night? My promise to you?” he bent down close and the arm around her waist smoothed upwards to catch her cheek. When the pad of his thumb brushed against it, he felt a delicate wetness. Her eyes were pinched shut now and her face contorted with grief. “Do you really doubt how I feel for you?”

She pushed at him, halfheartedly, but couldn’t bring herself to pull away any longer.

“You’re married, you’re married, you’re _married_!”

She was shaking as he held her tighter, crushing her gently against his chest. 

He bowed his head so that his lips were at her ear. At the feeling of his warm breath, she shuddered into him.

“And I shall regret it with the remainder of my days,” he whispered.

She looked up at him then, her eyes wet and red. Her nose was also red. Her cheeks matched too. Mathias grabbed her then and kissed her, unable to hold back in the wake of the freshness of her image. 

Her vulnerability; the rose petal cheeks and dew that beaded at them. She reminded him of the flowers in the garden. He wondered if they’d truly kept their secret for their love to have resulted in such a fate.

His mouth was warm against hers. Again, she stiffened and fought against him, her wrist straining against his grip on her, her other hand pushing at his chest, but that was short-lived. 

She soon melted into him, parting her lips so he could slip his tongue between them. When he did she sighed – a breathy little sound that all but set him on fire.

They had kissed before in the gardens, but it hadn’t been like this. 

It had been warm but hadn’t burned, his arms around her, had never been so pleading. Their time together, never so fleeting.

Soon he felt her curl into him, her free hand no longer rejecting him, but curling tenderly up by his jaw, holding his face to hers. He smiled against her lips as she began to kiss him back.

His entire wedding day, he had bargained with himself. Had thought that maybe, if he could just hold her like that again once more, that it would be enough. Now, with her in his arms, he was caught by surprise to find that he still ached for her. 

He was coming to find now that there was no ‘enough’, not really.

With her in his arms, he didn’t just feel these few stolen moments in his fingers, but he felt their lifetime together, slipping away, their wedding, their children, and grandchildren, and growing old together. He held her tighter, felt her body curve against his with more resolution; the firmness of her, and the softness of her.

It still was not close enough.

Here he was, kissing the love of his life while his wife sat downstairs. 

Already having thrown caution into the wind, Mathias decided to hell with it and shed whatever remaining inhibitions he had left. His lips left her mouth and he began peppering kisses across her cheeks and along the ridge of her jaw. She gasped, surprised, but not displeased.

He nosed beneath her neck to have his mouth attend to the sensitive skin there, and she all but melted into his arms.

“ _Oh_!” she sighed.

Her face was a much more thorough pink now, her lips parted. She was practically limp in his arms and he welcomed her weight. Having let go of her wrist, he shifted so that one arm was at her back, and the other was moving downwards over her buttocks, down her thighs, where they cut sharply across her knees and knocked her fully into his arms.

Mathias kissed at her neck, reveling in the smaller reactions she had to his ministrations. He could feel her breath catch in her throat, the little trembling shudders, and the way her fingers grasped at the front of his coat more tightly.

“I love seeing you like this.”

She wanted to pull back to look at him, but couldn’t with his lips still at her neck, pressing ticklish, open-mouthed kisses.

“Like what?”

“So honest. Your body betrays you.”

He felt her grasp tighten again.

“ _You_ betrayed me.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted them. She knew she’d hurt Mathias, and he pulled back slightly. 

It was too late to take the words back now, she had to own them. 

Besides, sad as they were, they were her truth. She met his gaze as levelly as she could, though she could not completely dispel the flush at her cheeks.

She expected him to deny it; to talk about how he hadn’t known of the engagement, or else to talk about his duty as a royal. Instead though, he looked at her with such earnest repentance, that she almost forgot his transgression in the first place.

“I know,” he said. “There are no words that will ever be able to capture how truly sorry I am, but know, I’ll never betray your heart again.”

She wanted to ask him how. How could he keep such a promise when he would be waking up beside another woman every morning, siring her sons? The question evaporated off her tongue as he raised one of her hands to his lips and pressed a kiss to her ringless finger.

His gaze locked onto hers, and she felt like she’d turned to stone. She did not move again until he bestowed movement to her once more. One of true love's many kisses. 

When his lips met hers again, she let her eyes shut and threw her arms around him. It was easier this way, to ignore what they were doing, by throwing herself - mind especially - into the act. 

His lips on her were like seeing God, his kisses made her whole.

When he lifted her up so they could move to the bed, she hadn’t even realized it until the dizzying jolt of their landing cued her in. Her eyes fluttered open, and she was on her back, Mathias hovering over her.

Of course, she’d known of his station – had worked for his family, and him, by extension for so long. But here, in the low light, in his formal attire, with his scent swirling around her, seeping into her clothes and coating her skin from how she lay sprawled atop his duvet, she felt most conquered and he looked most Kingly.

She watched him, waiting for his next move. He watched her, waiting for her to stop him. 

He removed his sash and slowed when he started at the jacket, waiting for her to protest. Instead she just bit at her bottom lip, trying to wake herself up from this fantasy, trying to get herself to _want_ to stop him. She still hadn’t managed this by the time he’d shrugged off his formal jacket. His shirt came off in much of the same way. She paid close attention to how his fingers undid the ties, loosening the fabric so that it revealed more of him to her.

Her eyes fixed on the growing slip of skin. Of course, she’d seen him like that many times. She’d had to touch him when she’d been changing his bandages or checking his scar. 

Mathias brought the fabric over his head and let it fall to the ground. 

When he perched at the edge of the bed to remove his boots, she got a generous glimpse of his back; the fragile column of vertebrae amidst the subtle play of muscle.

Then he turned on her, and her heart thudded in her chest, sending waves of fever fire washing over her. She was burning up, his weight on top of her, pressing her further into the flames. At the feel of his warm breath fanning across her face, her eyes fluttered shut. She sighed and spread out beneath him, her own hands resting passively by her head. When he was near enough that she could feel his body heat pooling in her palms, her fingers twitched, but she still did not touch him. He reached to tug at her clothes.

One of his fingers hooked at the neck of her apron, while the other hand nudged beneath the slope of her back to undo the tie.

As he snatched the garment away and tossed it behind him, letting it flutter to the ground like butterflies’ wings, his lips found her jaw.

“I undressed especially for you,” he murmured, “how come you won’t touch me?”

Her breathing roughened, both from the luxurious feel of his kisses and the scrutinizing heat of his question. She could feel how his weight above her confined the rise of her chest, and she flushed darker at the implication that he could probably feel her breasts this way.

She hesitated.

“Can I?”

Very gently one of Mathias’ hands reached up to take hers and place it against him. She could feel his heartbeat through his skin and it brought a small smile to her lips.

“I’m yours,” he pressed the words into her skin.

She knew this wasn’t true. In fact, as of six hours ago, he had signed himself away to someone else. Had taken a step up in the social hierarchy and widened the already gaping space that kept them separate. Still though, she dropped her hand down his torso, memorizing the planes of him like they were sacred ruins inscribed for her touch alone. She felt the slightly raised area of skin – his scar – and she traced it with one dainty finger. She might’ve imagined it, but she could’ve sworn that she felt him hold her more tightly here.

When her hand came to the waist of his trousers, she paused. The hand that had moved hers had joined his other at her back, and they worked at her dress. She felt the garment loosen around her and a flutter of panic swelled in her throat.

“W-wait,” she started.

Mathias looked up.

“I’m-“ her chest heaved, and she was hyperaware of how her house dress slipped from her, rendering her cleavage visible, emphasized by her corset. There were no words for what she wanted to say.

That is, he may have thought he was being equitable in removing his clothes, and then hers, but as always, he’d forgotten the fact that they hadn’t started at equal places, to begin with. He was of nobility – when he undressed it was grand. Glorious even, his body tempered by years of training and roughhousing with his equally grand and glorious brothers, and yes, war as well. 

She was not only of the servant class – her hands rough from work, and her image rendered sexless to the eyes of the upper-class, but she was a woman. If she gave to him what he was asking for, if she gave herself, there’d be nothing left for her future husband, which would consequently mean nothing left for herself.

Oh, and again, he was _married_.

She wasn’t sure if Mathias understood all the nuances to her apprehension, but the way he was stroking up and down her sides helped – though who, she also wasn’t sure of.

“Talk to me, _skat_.”

She wanted to tell him how it was so much more complicated for her. 

How after whatever happened tonight, he could return to his marriage and life, and she’d have to return to her chores – and while dreadfully dismal, this was still the best-case scenario.

She had a million things to tell him, a million insecurities to share, but instead, all that came out was.

“I’m afraid.”

“Of what?” 

One of Mathias’ hands went up to cup her cheek once more.

She shut her eyes and leaned into his touch.

“Of what comes next.”

“Only good things,” he leaned down to press a kiss to each of her eyelids.

When she opened them again, her house dress was off. She was in only her corset and chemise. This was the most a man had ever seen of her, and they still had more to go.

He pushed off from her then.

“Sit up and turn around,” he directed.

There was an authority in his voice – either strung through his blood or garnered from years of training, but as always, she obeyed.

She sat up on the bed and turned so that her back was to him. This felt, somehow more vulnerable than before. 

She could feel when he came near her then; the wall of heat that gently radiated at her back followed closely by a ticklish feeling in her hair. 

She felt something nuzzle into it.

“ _Ah_ – so lovely.”

There was more movement – something deliberate. Then she saw a dark hairpin – one of her own – being tossed onto the nightstand beside her, and one curl was hanging down by her face.

She flushed and the small ministrations in her hair continued. As more of her curls fell loose, Mathias swept her hair aside so that it rested over one of her shoulders. Something skimmed along her neck – his nose? He ended the journey with a kiss.

She swallowed nervously, knowing full well what came next.

His hands were surprisingly adept as he set to her corset. She was surprised; the litheness of his fingers as they undid the intricate tangles of hooks and ribbon. While her nerves felt sensitive, ready to jump like a livewire, the idea of showing him more of herself stoked the fire at her skin. 

This heat slipped downwards and pooled between her thighs.

When she sensed he was finished, she drew the corset away and let it fall to the floor. The relief of being free of its confines was normally a part of the day she looked forward to, but under Mathias’ gaze, a rush of shyness overtook her. What did she look like now, without a corset? Was he disappointed? Disgusted? She could feel her body hold taut, a meager attempt to maintain the posture and figure her corset cut.

She wrapped her arms around herself and waited. Meanwhile, his arms wrapped around her.

She was surprised once more, this time by how the warmth and pressure of him around her seemed to ease some of the ache inside of her; while simultaneously making it so much worse.

“You’re so soft,” he said, pressing a kiss atop her head.

She blushed at the smile in his voice. He gave her a squeeze and felt hardness behind her. When he shifted her onto his lap, she felt another sort of hardness. She panted slightly, the heat of it all becoming so much.

“I could die a happy man holding you like this,” he stroked at her hair again, “seeing you like this.”

His words were just more fire licking at her skin and beyond, reaching into her, into places she hadn’t even known existed. It found more heat hidden away inside of her and set it free. All of it was collecting at the pit of her stomach. 

A wet spot was accumulating at her drawers and chemise. This also embarrassed her, and it made her warmer still. It was too hot, too hot, _too hot_.

She told him this. 

Then, before he could answer, she reached under her gown and slipped her drawers off, hoping it would provide her some reprieve. The fabric joined the pile at the floor, and she felt no less hot.

Mathias leaned back, giving her space to work now as without thinking, she grabbed the hem of her chemise and pulled it over her head. It was easier than she thought it would be when she didn’t have to skirt his gaze.

It was a few moments before he reached out to touch her, and even then it was tentative – again, waiting for her to stop him. She tensed in his arms as a crooked finger trailed down her back, ticking down the vertebrae of her spine like stairsteps.

He strayed from his path to caress at the skin to his hand's left, tracing the indents the corset had left in her skin.

“These marks are from the corset?”

“They are.”

His cool touch soothed over the slight irritation and she relaxed into him.

“Do they stay long?”

“Not too long, though I’m usually asleep before they disappear.” She gave a little laugh, “then I have to put it on again in the morning and start all over.”

His lips went to her shoulder and his hands continued their trajectory over her sides until they paused at her ribs. She was hyperaware of how close to her breasts he was. With each breath she took it seemed to shift his grip closer, so that his knuckles brushed the bottoms of them.

The beginnings of a whine settled at the end of one breath and as she leaned back into him, Mathias eased his hands upwards, softly, slowly.

She felt herself clench emptily at the feeling of his strong hands palming her breasts. He gave her another squeeze, thumb, and forefinger pinching the hardened buds.

She whimpered and writhed against him at the flecks of pleasure his touch invoked. 

Mathias exhaled sharply as she unwittingly ground against his erection. 

His grip on her tightened and he pulled her downwards, using the hold he had on her as leverage, to grind against her again. 

She felt his hardness starkly beneath her, as well as the wet patch she was leaving at his trousers.

“Oh! _Mathias_!”

“Forgive me,” he panted but didn’t stop rolling his hips beneath her. 

“I want you very, _very_ badly.”

She blushed and one arm reached up behind her to wrap haphazardly around Mathias’ neck, holding them closer together.

“You’re still…partially dressed,” she said.

This stilled her lover because they both knew what came next.

“Oh?” he breathed, and his hands smoothed down the length of her once more. “ _Ja, ja_ , I suppose you’re right.”

She lifted herself from him, trying to help as he hastily undid his trousers and shimmied them down and off. In the next moment, she was seated on his lap once more, feeling his hot, velvet member beneath her. 

Mathias rolled his hips again, feeling the way his length slipped against her wetness.

“ _Helvede_ ,” he groaned.

Her hips moved almost of her own accord, and she rutted against him, desperate not to lose the friction of him against her. With the cant of her body against his, his grasp on her was guiding. 

One hand left her breast to trail down. 

At the feel of him parting the thick curls between her thighs, she drew her legs together, suddenly shy again.

He had figured as much, but they also knew that she was no match for him. 

His hands withstood the way her thighs clamped down on him, and then his fingers were delving into her wet folds.

“You’re soaked.”

Her face reddened.

She expected him to linger at her sex, but instead, he was shifting her off his lap and onto the bed.

His naked form caged her to it, and when she looked down, she caught her first glimpse of him. She’d never seen one before, but his girth daunted her – was he supposed to be able to fit the entire thing into her?

Mathias caught the stricken way she stared at him.

“It might hurt your first time, but I’ll be as gentle as I can.”

His words did little to ease her nerves, but the way he grabbed himself and traced her wet slit with the tip of his member helped. Peals of pleasure ran through her and she arched closer to him, desperate to feel more of him.

“I’m going to put it in now, yeah?”

They both looked down, watching as he guided himself into her. At the press of his tip – so much thicker than she’d thought – at her entrance, she panicked and her hands braced against his chest to stop him.

“Wait!”

He stopped immediately.

“It’s just –“ her chest heaved with her roughened breath, which was only growing rougher. “It’s – you,” she sighed, and out of nowhere, she felt wetness at her eyes again. 

“You’re _married_. I know you said it doesn’t matter, but it does – you’re married and you’re laying with me on your wedding night.”

Mathias opened his mouth to say something – probably something about how none of that mattered, so she made sure to speak before he could.

“What if I become _with child_? Then what? You’ll take care of us? More likely is that we’ll be thrown from the castle and become destitute.”

The words sounded strange, tasted bitter in her mouth – but truths and tough pills often did, she found.

Mathias leaned in to kiss her on the mouth, lips moving persistently as if intent on smothering her worries. She held onto them fiercely, though still sagged against him, letting herself indulge in the luxury of his taste.

“If you become with child, my dream will be coming true,” he said, again taking her hand in his and raising it to his lips. “And I will take care of you – nothing could keep me from you or our child. Not the law, not the sword, not –“

“Your wife?”

His face grew solemn, and those blue of his eyes took on a melancholic quality, not so different as they had in the months leading up to his wedding.

“No,” he said. “Not even her. The law has no claim to that of which my heart already has.”

She blinked, her worries not gone, but rendered infinitely small in the shadow of his promise. She flung her arms around his neck and brought him down into a feverish kiss, her lips taking the lead now, demanding of him to make good on that of which he promised her. 

He slipped his tongue into her mouth, sampling her here, as he guided his length into her entrance down below.

He could tell there was some resistance based on the way her hold tightened around him. She panted into his mouth, and he broke the kiss to give her some room to breathe, which she stifled by nosing into his shoulder.

“You’re doing so great,” he soothed, his hands coming up to stroke her face as he eased into her, inch by tedious inch. 

The burn and stretch of him were doable for her, she decided, though her face was pinched up, and her breath escaped through her teeth in sharp pants. When he was hilted inside of her, she could feel the throb of him – like a second heartbeat. She tried squeezing around him, earning a grunt on his part. Some of the burn chipped off and evaporated into her rampant desire, still raging on in the background.

She felt full. Fuller than she had in months. Made whole again and restored.

She thought of the afternoons in the garden, thought of their stolen kisses then, and then thought of her stolen bed space now.

The burning had dimmed considerably.

“Please,” she gasped, clutching at Mathias in a way that made her nails bite into him, “you can-“

He pulled out almost to the tip, deliberately, the drag of him against her inner walls dissolving whatever discomfort remained. Then he thrust into her, hilting himself once more, his hips slapping against hers. 

Her body livened beneath him and as he settled into a steady pace, she arched against him, trying clumsily to meet him halfway, her hips clashing to his.

He chuckled, and his hands gripped her.

With every stroke, her want for him seemed to sweeten, the friction feeding a growing pressure at the pit of her stomach. His body shot tremors through her, and his face nuzzled into her cleavage.

Her fingers carded through his hair, holding him close as he pounded into her, the wet sounds of their union growing louder and louder with every thrust.

After a while, he lifted his face from her.

“Hey,”

She opened her eyes to meet his.

“Have you ever…finished before?”

Her cheeks reddened, the flush of exertion on her darkening.

“You’re my first.”

He laughed as if she’d said something funny and leaned in to press a clumsy kiss to her nose.

“I mean at your own hands.”

Where would she have been able to? The servants shared bedchambers, and even beneath the thick woolen covers, she wasn’t willing to risk being found with her fingers buried in her _honeypot_.

“I haven’t.”

He kissed her again, and smiled, taking great care to nose against her for an added measure of tenderness.

“This will be extra fun for me then.”

One of his hands slunk down between their bodies, and his pace slowed to allow room for his hand to find her wet sex again. She looked down to watch, intrigued. If his… _member_ was already there, then what else could he possibly add? She felt good.

Pleasure jolted through her like lightning from his fingertips.

“ _Ah!_ -“ she cried, writhing under him. 

Her hips surged against him without her even meaning to. She felt another rush of wetness slip from her thighs.

He never ceased his ministrations, not with his skillful fingers at her clit, nor his cock inside of her. He kept pumping, kept rubbing, and kept watching the way she contorted under him.

“Feels good?”

“F-Feels wonder-“ she moaned again, feeling the pressure in her stomach pull tight, like the purse strings drawn shut on a bag. “-ful”

He twitched inside of her, and she rocked her hips again, breaking his pace.

“You’re close, I think,” he murmured. “Come for me.”

“Mm.”

She turned her face fitfully away, the loss of control flustering her under his scrutiny as he skillfully manipulated her body.

“Come for me,” he said again, “and I’ll follow close behind.”

At the mention of his own release, she squeezed around him.

Mathias let out a choked sound and then crushed himself to her. Both arms braced tightly around her, he picked his pace up into that of wild horses; a careless, untamed gallop. His sweaty face nuzzled into the crook of her neck, and each time his hips crashed against hers, they threatened to bruise.

She couldn’t think of that now though, with his throbbing, twitching length inside of her, and her own climax so close. Her arms were around him once more, trailing fire as her nails left streaks of pink along his back.

She clenched around him again. Then twice more.

“I can’t –“

She wasn’t sure what she couldn’t do. It felt like she couldn’t hold on, though her grip on him was iron.

The coiled tension in her stomach released then and she understood. 

Heat suffused her skin and washed through her. Her body took over, clenching around him again and again, as a more intense wetness dripped from her, slipping down his length. 

Mathias’ hold on her tightened as well and he grunted. She felt him twitch and then there was a spread of heat inside of her – separate from her own, and all too pleasant. 

Their sweaty forms lay there, thrumming from their orgasms, his cock softening inside of her. When he could manage to pick his heavy limbs up once more, he reached to grab her hand and twine his fingers through hers.

“How are you?” he asked her, tilting his head to press a kiss to wherever of her he could reach. Right now, that was her neck.

“Good,” she stared up at the canopy over the bed. “Never better.”

It was true, for now.

-

The next morning the Queen Consort trudged into her room, expecting to find her husband asleep beneath the sheets. The room was empty – the bed unmussed as if no one had ever slept in it. 

It barely looked like a bedroom, rather, the stark emptiness of personal effects and usage made it appear like something out of a painting, rather than the room her husband had kept for years.

Too tired to call to be undressed right away, she went to the bed and fell upon it. Stretching out, she deliberated letting sleep take her – and leaving undressing and finding her husband the next morning when her hand touched something thin slipped beneath the pillow. 

Her eyes snapped open and she pulled the object from its snug placement.

A letter. She flipped it over and saw it was addressed to her. In her husband’s handwriting?

Truthfully, she didn’t know him well enough to tell.

She read it, her eyes flitting over the words like a hummingbird. Through the fog of her drunkenness and fatigue, she struggled to take the correspondence in its whole, but managed to parse a few strings that alluded to the general contents; _gone away, won’t be back, truly sorry._

She tossed the letter away from her and pinched the bridge of her nose, the beginnings of a hangover pounding at her skull. It was too early for this. 

She’d deal with it, after a good day’s sleep.

Through the window, golden light filtered in, but the Queen Consort was fast asleep before she could greet it.


End file.
